We're Not in Brooklyn Anymore
by LadyIska
Summary: What if that epilogue never happened and Dan Humphrey went to an MFA in Creative Writing Program instead? Rated M for brief profanity.


We're Not in Brooklyn Anymore

"Do you have to go?" Serena asked, squeezing his hands, her saucer eyes glimmering.

"Yeah, I do." Dan's mouth squished to one side, making him look apologetic even when he wasn't. Around them, the airport buzzed. Serena was squirming uncomfortably on the connected seats with their splitting grey pleather. CNN was yelling at them from the monitor above their heads. "You know, you're not really supposed to be at the gate."

Serena shook it off. "I've got…"

"Connections," Dan finished for her.

She smiled and laid her hand on his shoulder. "Why are you going to school for writing anyway? You already have a book. People in New York know your name now."

Well, that was true. That warm feeling, the kind you get after taking a shot of whiskey, or having your rich girlfriend tell you that you're a famous writer, settled in his chest.

"Yeah…." he drew the word out too long as if it were delicious. "But the degree will give me a different kind of cred."

"Okaaay," Serena said, sliding her hand down his shoulder to take his hand, "but why Upper Midwestern State? Why not NYU or Sarah Lawrence or Cornell?"

"I've written about the Upper East Side," Dan replied. "That's what I'm known for here. I need to get out and write about real people. People who don't have trust funds." He looked at his watch. "Look, they're going to start boarding soon."

They did the awkward dance of should-we-shouldn't-we kiss. After all, they'd agreed that during the three years Dan would spend at Upper Midwestern State, they'd remain "just friends" or at least have an open relationship…it hadn't been entirely set in stone. Dan kissed her on the cheek and momentarily panicked. _No, it'll be fine. For once, I'll be the coolest kid on campus._

* * *

"So I'm just really not convinced that this character is genuine," Robby said, pushing his glasses further up onto his nose. Dan kept his head down while his classmates talked around him in the writing workshop, waiting for the moment when the professor would give him the all clear by asking gently, _Dan, do you have any questions for us? _Until then, he'd wallow.

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Ursula said, nodded and chewing a pen, "like how is Sara not dead from all the drugs she's done?"

"And then there's this character…Helen…the homeless woman…who shows up once and never comes back. I'd really like to hear more about her."

"I thought she was Joanna in disguise," Trevor countered. "I mean, I think the fact that Joanna is often referred to as 'dirty Joanna' might suggest that."

"It's very New York," Greg drawled.

"What does that even mean?"

"I don't know…" Greg glanced at Dan, who seemed to be furiously taking notes, his knuckles white. "Insincere. Like Robby said. Not genuine."

"Dan," Professor Baker asked, his tone gratingly kind, "do you have any questions for us?"

"I'm _from _New York," Dan insisted. "I've lived in Brooklyn my whole life." He waited for a response, but the class was silent. So fucking polite. "Sara is _real _person."

He looked over at Helen next to him, who was writing something in her notebook, clearly for Ursula to read. They giggled softly. "But I mean," Ursula said, looking up at him, "didn't you already write this book?"

Dan's jaw clenched. "No. The girl in that book was named Sabrina. It's different."

"But it's still set in New York."

"Right."

"And the narrator is still a dude from Brooklyn."

"Yes."

Professor Baker nodded, stroking his thin beard. "What you're saying, Ursula, is that this kind of thing has been done."

"Exactly."

Baker continued to stroke his beard, locking eyes with Dan who seemed frozen in a combination of anger and embarrassment. Baker leaned back in his chair, and said, "Yes, but you know, there might be a reason why it's been done. There's something…mmmmmmm," he raised his finger as if checking the wind direction, "delightful about reading about extremely rich people. You hardly ever see that."

Dan sighed, unbuttoned another button of his dress shirt and ran a hand through his hair, smirking in the general direction of any who cared to glance at him.


End file.
